


Sustenance

by etaeternum



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cunnilingus, Curvy Woman, F/M, Food, Kitchen Sex, Love at First Sight, Shyness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 18:31:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12687831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etaeternum/pseuds/etaeternum
Summary: Cullen is ordered by the Inquisitor to put down his work and feed himself. He meets Anya, the kitchen-hand.A Tumblr giveaway one-shot for AnyaRuth (aka @gugle1980).





	Sustenance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gugle1980](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gugle1980/gifts).



> This was so much fun- thank you for giving me the chance to try something new! Thank you to TurboNerd for being my last min beta!

“I had a Pride demon charging at me full force, roaring in that ridiculous way Pride Demons do. I thought to sidestep him and bash him with my shield but something came over me. Instead, I charged full force right toward him and at the last second, I leaped into the air, and landed my sword right in his chest.” Alexander Trevelyan paced Cullen’s office one night, beaming with pride as he explained his latest victory. “Fortunately, it was the final blow. He died instantly.”

“Uh-huh,” Cullen muttered, not glancing up at the Inquisitor. His quill continued scratching against the parchment on his desk as Cullen drafted a letter with determination. He had been toiling over papers and graphs, sketching routes on maps all day.

Sighing, ego deflated, Alexander stopped walking. His head tilted to the side with curiosity. “When was the last time you had a break?”

Cullen’s quill paused and he looked up with mild interest. “A break?” Studying the ceiling in thought, he added, “I took a few minutes to stretch about an hour ago.”

“Andraste’s ass. That’s not a break, Cullen.” Alexander crossed his arms as he rolled his eyes. “You need to get out of this office. Come have a drink with me at the Herald’s Rest.”

Cullen snorted, picked up a messy stack of papers, and tapped them on their sides. He put them down in a neat pile. “I have a very long list of things to do, Inquisitor. Having a drink is not one of them.”

“When was the last time you’ve eaten?” Without a pause, Alexander returned Cullen’s dismissive tone with a question.

Cullen folded his hands on his desk. “I’ve eaten.” He glanced at the wall beside Alexander. “I had a bowl of porridge for breakfast. It was plenty filling and I have not needed another meal.”

Alexander’s brow lifted with doubt for only a second before he cleared his throat. “Cullen, I’m not sure I can have you leading the Inquisition’s military if you are not going to take care of yourself. You must be properly fed.”

Frustrated, Cullen ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “Fine. You win.” He stood from his desk. “I was planning on heading to the kitchen soon to find what’s left of dinner. If it will ease your concerns, I will go there now.”

A grin morphed from Alexander’s frown. “Good. In that case, I will see you in the morning, Commander. I am heading to the tavern to unwind.”

“Maybe I’ll join you after I’ve eaten.” Cullen smiled as he put on his overcoat.  
  
“Really?” Alexander asked hopefully.

Cullen shooed Alexander from his office and chuckled. “No, of course not.”

They both walked down the steps to the Skyhold courtyard, parting at the door to the Herald’s Rest. Alexander waved to Cullen as he opened the door. Music and chatter, lively sounds of evening festivities rang from the bar until it shut behind Alexander, leaving Cullen in silence.

With a sigh, Cullen crossed the courtyard and climbed the stairs to Skyhold. Distant footsteps, creaking doorways, and incoherent mumbles echoed through the grand hall. Unconcerned with their sources, Cullen continued toward the kitchen, climbing the inner stairway. Famished pangs grumbled in his stomach; he pressed his hand to his belly, finally admitting his hunger to himself.

Reaching his destination, he pushed the door open, revealing a kitchen full of tables full of food. He walked to the nearest to forage, looking for enough leftovers to make a full meal among bowls filled with cooked meats, ranging colors of raw vegetables, and shining fruits. Warmth sourced from a fire blazing in the hearth on the farthest wall.

Scanning the kitchen, his eyes landed on her. The kitchen-hand stood at a table facing away from him. She hummed a pleasant song to herself, completely unaware of his presence as she worked. Her black hair was up, fastened to stay out of her face, he imagined. The hearth fire made a silhouette of her hourglass frame, hips alluding to the fullness of her upper half. Cullen realized he was staring and coughed; his hand rubbed the back of his head.

Startled, she yelled “oh!” and turned around. An awkward chuckle escaped her, and she wiped her hands on her apron. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there.” The woman blushed, her eyes tracked from Cullen to the ground at his feet.

“Don’t!” Cullen blurted, holding out his hand to stop her apology.

She looked up, eyes widened; large and light-brown, framed by thick, and curling lashes. Cullen's stomach knotted and he sighed to alleviate the tension. “Don’t apologize, I mean… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have startled you.”

Giving a simple nod, she shirked her shoulders; her eyes wandered to the right. He gathered she was uncomfortable with his presence, waiting for him to leave.

“I… I should go.” He turned on his heels and took a step toward the door.

“Commander...” Almost a question, soft notes in her timid use of his title stopped him in his tracks.

“You… know who I am?” He turned around, holding his distance from the woman out of respect. She grinned, blushing, scanning his attire in a nonverbal answer to his question. “Ah… right.” Awkward chuckling carried through his words as he glanced down at his armor. When his eyes landed back on her, her gaze went to the ground. The gentle tug of her lips showed a small grin. It made Cullen blush.

 _Maker behold this bashful woman._ He sighed at himself gawking at her. “Well, I’m sure there’s food in the tavern.” He headed for the door again, disappointed in his inability to find better words.

She mumbled, “I have some here.”

Cullen looked over his shoulder to spot her, dipping her head toward the table of leftovers. He nodded with gratitude. “Can I…?”

Before he could walk any further, she answered, “I’ll make you a plate,” and turned around to gather some food.

She bent over, pulling a plate from a shelf beneath the tabletop. Her rear stuck in the air, round, full, and far too pleasing to his eyes. He cleared his throat when she stood upright, deflecting his shame for appreciating the view. But her activity called his eyes back to her, collecting items from bowls, intentional and caring each time she reached across the table to find specific ingredients to feed him. Accentuated dips and contours of her frame demanded the attention of his eyes each time she stretched. His attempts to look away were only mildly successful until she turned around; he coughed.

The sight of the food reminded him of his hunger. His stomach growled, and the woman giggled in response. She passed him the plate.

“Thank you…uh...” He didn’t know her name. _You’re an ass, Cullen._  

“Anya,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her. Her smile widened.

Elegant lashes batted as she blushed, Cullen could only smile back, ignoring the plated food in hand. Lines of worry quickly drew her eyebrows to a bunch. “Oh no… you don’t like meat pie, do you? Of course not, why would you?”

She extended her hands for the platter, waking Cullen from his transfixed daze. He shook his head.

“Meat pie is fine… I mean perfect. I love meat pies.” He responded quickly, attempting to calm her with his own nervous declaration. “May I have a fork?”

She grinned again and nodded, grabbing cutlery for him from a container on a neighboring table. He took the plate to a small table in the corner. Anya returned to organizing items at the table away from him, humming while she worked.

The food smelled divine, colorful and appetizing. Faintly aware of Anya’s eyes looking over her shoulder to check on him, Cullen took his first bite.

It was superb. Delicious hearty flavor made his mouth water. He swallowed and muttered, “You are truly a gift from the Maker.” He took another bite, feeling his aching hunger vanishing.

“What?” Anya turned around, her concerned eyes wandering to his plate.

“Oh, it was just... Thank you.” He nodded and took another bite.

“It was my pleasure.” High cheekbones tinged the slightest shade of pink under streaks of flour; it made his heart stir. When she turned back toward her work, Cullen was grateful. Not because he didn't enjoy the sight of Anya but because his appreciation was distracting. His chances of tripping over his words or doing something foolish increased when she looked at him, but he couldn't resist the desire to further conversation.

“Did you make this?” He questioned between bites.

“It’s my specialty, but I always make too much,” she answered over her shoulder.

“Well, I’m grateful. It’s fantastic.” _You’re fantastic._ He held back the compliment, bringing another forkful to his mouth.

How had he not seen this woman before? A gorgeous gift to the Inquisition, it seemed Anya poured care into each dish she supplied. Her presence tonight suggested her commitment to service kept her at work for late hours, just like him.

“How long have you… Have you worked here long?” He took the last bite of his meal.

Nodding, her eyes lit up. “Since the Inquisition formed. I trust the Maker’s plan with the Herald, and you-” She stopped mid-thought and turned on her feet to face him. “Oh my, you want dessert, don’t you?”

“Oh…” Sleep beckoned, and Cullen’s stomach, full of rich meat pie, held little room for more, but accepting her offer would prolong his time with Anya. He nodded. “I would like that."  
  
She smiled widely, excited to share another one of her creations with him. Careful steps carried her to a neighboring table. His eyes followed, she uncovered a dish holding a fruit tart.

Cullen spoke to her while she fixed him a plate, “Would you like to have some too?  Only if you’d like, of course.”

She gazed up from her task. The corners of her eyes wrinkled as she grinned. Anya made a second plate and brought them both over, taking a seat across from him at the small table. With her new proximity, he had the opportunity to appreciate her beauty. Strands of dark hair fell into her face, over pale skin covered in the faintest freckles, and flush with color. Her light brown eyes studied her plate, curious, pupils dilated. She avoided looking at him. Her plump lips pursed gently. Peripheral vision taunted his eyes to look lower. An ample bust beneath the chemise revealed skin, fair and soft. He forced his eyes to look at her hand, lovely, elegant and strong. The edge of her fork separated a bite of tart.

“You have scars on your hands,” he stated with concern.

“I have my own battle wounds.” She made a light giggle and brought her fork to her mouth. After chewing and swallowing, she added, “It might not compare to your line of work, Commander, but kitchen life can be quite rough.”

“I have no doubt.” Cullen chuckled, and followed her lead, finally taking a bite of the fruity dessert and ate. Sweet and tangy, the cool tart was phenomenal. “Sweet Andraste.”

“You like it? Oh!” She followed her question with an exclamation, leaping up to grab something off another table. Before she could even return to her chair, she set down a small glass in front of him, “This will make it better.... Let me?”

She took his fork with one hand and sectioned off another bite. The other pulled a handle from the glass, a honey dipper, and drizzled honey onto his forkful. Without any hesitation, she lifted the fork to his mouth. Cullen paused, startled by her forwardness and unsure how to proceed professionally. The freedom in her excitement could not be denied, she held no reservations or shame around sharing what she loved. After a moment, he opened his mouth and let her feed him.

The sweet, sticky honey complemented the fruit. Perfect, the flavor flooded his mouth. He had no words, only a pleased hum escaped him. He swallowed the food.

“Good, isn’t it?” She asked, her eyes twinkled, eagerly searching his face for a reaction. She pressed her elbows onto the table, her rear hovering over her seat, and shifted closer to him. Anya’s lips curved upward.

He could only nod his head, staring at her face so close to his. Entranced with her features, all brightened by her elation; his heart pounded. Unaware of his goals, following an instinct he did not understand but did not question, Cullen leaned in, closed his eyes, and pressed his lips to hers.

She made a short, surprised hum before she reciprocated, but she did. Warm, full lips embraced his for a long moment. The clean scent of flour and sugar resonated from her; Cullen breathed Anya in and sighed.

At the bottom of his exhale, he pulled away and stood. “Forgive me.” His hand involuntarily rubbed the back of his neck; his eyes darted from her face to the ceiling. “That was inappropriate… I shouldn’t have… you deserve better.”

She only mumbled, “No.”

Before she could say any more, he hurried from the side door of the room. It led to the stairwell to the Inquisition courtyard. Halfway down he stopped and leaned against the exterior stone wall of the stronghold, catching his breath.

“Idiot,” he cursed himself aloud. “Why would you think...?” Thoughts raced on about his unprofessional blunder, lack of self-control, a poor example to the Inquisition soldiers. _The Inquisition._ In the time he spent with Anya, the burden of responsibility had disappeared from the forefront of his mind. Anya had given sufficient distraction, escape from the mountain of paperwork he had waiting in his office. Up to this point, he found no other solace from stressors so thorough in Skyhold.

Minutes passed as he weighed his options. Forgetting this event ever happened, pretending he had never met Anya and continuing with his work seemed most responsible, and impossible. He had wronged her; she deserved a better apology for his abuse of her kindness.  

With another deep breath, he turned around and walked up the stairs.

He slowly opened the door, and Anya looked up from the sink, startled. “Commander.” She dipped her head in respect.

“Please,” Cullen took a slow step toward her, “Just Cullen.” She nodded, remaining at her place by the sink.

“Please, forgive me for overstepping. I should not have assumed you would welcome that. But Anya…” Cullen’s hands extended in front of him, moving as he tried to find the right words. “I enjoyed spending time with you… more than you could possibly understand.... and I’d like to know, if it’s alright with you… can I see you again? Just as friends, of course.” He looked at the ground her to prepare for her rejection.

“Cullen?” She asked timidly, and a small step inched her nearer.

 _My name._ He heard it, the sweet sound of his name from her kind voice. It provoked his gaze to meet hers. “Yes?”

She walked, closing the distance between them. Bunched brows showed sadness, confusion. “Cullen…." He prepared himself for the worst.  
  
Anya stood on her tiptoes and placed a long kiss on his cheek.

Realizing what Anya was doing, Cullen put his hands on her shoulders, creating space between them. “You don’t have to do that. I did not intend to pressure you.”

“I want to,” Anya whispered, looking up at him from under long lashes. “I… would love to spend more time with you. I enjoyed the kiss.”

“Really?” Through his disbelief, he smiled and she responded with a nod.

Relieved and overjoyed, Cullen moved his hands from her shoulders to her face, cradling her cheeks. He needed to kiss her. He lowered his head to hers and brought their lips together. Tender and patient, but deliberate and mindful, unlike the spellbound accident that happened before, he initiated another kiss. Anya’s arms wrapped around his waist.

Passionate and grateful for her warm reciprocation, his lips parted and hers did the same. Her timid tongue waited for his, and he offered it gently.

Sliding his tongue against hers prompted a whimper. Cullen's hands slid to her head, digits lacing through loosened hair, his thumbs delicately drawing against her jaw.  Cullen groaned. He leaned closer, taking a step in her direction, with no goal aside from the desperate need for more. Her hands crawled up his back, gripping him for support as she blindly walked backward. She bumped into a table, causing the pair to separate from their kiss. Frantic desire won over reason. She pushed the items from behind her and not a moment later, Cullen lifted her.

She gasped, grabbing his arms, looking over her shoulder, her legs reaching toward the ground.  

He set her down on the table, and her legs spread to accommodate him, but her cheeks blushed, and her eyes glistened. She avoided his eyes. _She’s embarrassed,_ he determined by her expression.

Amor halted, Cullen’s tender thumb lifted her chin. “You’ve nothing to be ashamed of. You are… simply magnificent in so many ways.”

She made a subtle twitch of her nose and followed with a sniffle. “I’m just a lowly kitchen maid. You are so…” Searching for words, her eyes traveled the contours of his face.

“I’m nothing." He shook his head. "I’m a recovering lyrium addict and I’m consumed by my work.”

Her forehead wrinkled with compassion and concern, consistent with her personality. “But you’re part of such an important cause.”

“As are you... But you help me forget about all of that. I haven’t found that anywhere else since I took this role."

She sniffled again, but this time she smiled. “It’s the least I could do.”

“Because you’re so much more than just a kitchen maid. You are a gift.” Cullen stroked her hair.

“From the Maker?” Anya gave him a teary wink.

“Oh… you… I guess you heard that.” Blushing, Cullen covered his mouth with his fist and coughed.

She nodded quickly and leaned forward to kiss him. Appreciating the already familiar texture of her lips, Cullen closed his eyes. The kiss stretched on, mouths opening to allow tongues to engage. Passion reignited by the simple act of affection.

Capturing the image of the beautiful woman staring back, her eager eyes alight with a familiar fire. Unlikely circumstances had brought them here, but their connection was undeniable. He fell for Anya the moment he set eyes on her.  

But enamored longing created urgency, and Cullen wanted this to be right. “Are you sure?”

Anya gave a devious grin, unique from the shy smiles she had given all night. She bit her lip and nodded. With a hum of relief, Cullen gave another hurried peck.

Two sets of hands worked to loosen her garments. Laces undone, Anya’s simple bodice opened at the front and her breasts relaxed under her chemise, which hung off her shoulders. Soft and full, her chest beckoned to be touched, but he paused and met Anya’s curious gaze.

“You are so beautiful.” He muttered, and then kissed her forehead. She made a tiny moan of appreciation.

Cullen extended a hand to her. Together, they shuffled her chemise out from under her, pulling her under-dress over her head. Warmth from the distant fire heated Cullen’s back, her nearly naked body glowed heat in front of him. His length responded, growing in his small clothes, unable to resist the enveloping fervor.

Her black hair had fallen to messy waves against her bare shoulders; round cheeks were flushed with amour. She stared at him, ardent and trusting, brown eyes inquiring about his delay. Her arms wrapped around her chest, covering herself from overexposure.

Stepping back, Cullen removed his boots and unstrapped his armor. Occasional glances at Anya found her watching, fascinated with the act of him removing layers of metal and leather, fur, and fabric.

Questions of unexpected visitors did not deter either of them. Time had passed in their conversation while he ate; visitors rarely came to the removed location this late at night.

Left standing in his underclothes, Cullen realized his vulnerability. His lips bunched and he rubbed the back of his head.

Anya’s eyes wandered his tall frame; her mouth gaped. When her gaze returned to his, she let her arms down by her side, matching his vulnerability with her own. Firelight created outlines of her curves now free of linen fabric.

Her elegant hand reached for him, touching the refined muscles of his stomach, fascinated and careful. An open palm widened, extending to feel him, the tight skin over sinew. Her hand felt soft against him and his belly twitched at the sensation. He snorted, and Anya’s hand retracted.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, pulling her arm against her bare chest.

“Don’t be… I just… it tickled.” He chuckled and ran his hand through his hair.

Her timid fingers reached toward him again, touching the muscles of his chest this time. Cullen inched closer, his hands reaching around her frame to the small of her back, pressing her against him. He gripped her hips and she whimpered.

The sweet sound of her voice sparked his desire to hear more, pleasured cries and moans, exquisite gasps he could draw from her. His hand slid down her legs to the center, appreciating her thick and curvy shape under his palms, all begging to be squeezed and held. His finger found her coarse curls, then the space between her legs.  
  
Anya gasped. Her nails lightly dug into his skin, provoking Cullen’s growl. At the signs of her body’s acclimation, his fingers parted her lips to the slick heat they guarded. In unison, Cullen groaned along with Anya's moan.

His fingers explored the private place between her legs, and she succumbed, adapting to allow him room to feel her.  Anya’s fingers weaved through his hair and his nose nuzzled into her neck. Kisses against the neck’s tender skin kept his mouth occupied while his middle finger found her bud. Light circles on the sensitive spot sparked her quick moaning, wonderful notes sung of pleasure.

And he wanted more, to taste her. His knees bent, bowing to her as he lowered. Gentle kisses to the nub, then a soft lick; she writhed. He hummed against her and traced his tongue to her entrance, appreciating Anya's tender tissue that welcomed him, again, and again. She moaned loudly, her legs resting on his shoulders squeezed.

When her body adjusted, a plateau to his stimulation, he returned to her swollen, sensitive bud, faint pressure and quick rounds on the hooded locus of sensation. He persisted until she whimpered his name. She froze; her upper body still as Anya's legs shook involuntarily. Dedicated, satisfied, he continued slowing his motions until her body eased.

It made him ache. Her shivers against him teased, coaxing his member to stiffen through his smallclothes. Rising, he wiped his mouth and leaned in to kiss her.  
  
“I want you,” she murmured in his ear, and brought her hands to his waist. Careful tugs at his pulled his underclothes over his shaft, freeing him to tiny space between them.

She stared for a moment, watching his erect length with interest. Then her gaze traveled to his. Concerned, apprehensive, her hand slowly extended around his shaft. Cullen shuddered, clenching the muscles of his stomach as she started to move. The attentive strokes of her digits mindfully applied pressure, sparking him to groan.

 _“Anya.”_ He said her name through a heavy whispered, and ran his fingers through her hair. Another kiss between them, and Cullen sighed, “Lay with me.”

Anya made a pleased hum and giggled. “But there’s nowhere to lie in the kitchen.”

He gave a distracted chuckle and looked around. Anya was right, unless they moved to another room in Skyhold or directly to the floor, the tabletop would have to do.

The location where she gave him dinner, where he realized he adored her, where she fed him, selfless and uncorrupted by the Inquisition’s politics. Humble and kind, Anya did not understand her beauty. Cullen wished to change that.

Hands wandered the body of the other, appreciating muscles and curves, sinew and thickness. Though the kitchen fire dwindled, the room growing darker, pressing bodies conducted heat. Scooting closer to the edge of the table, Anya held onto Cullen’s muscular shoulders in preparation. His free hand squeezed her thigh for support as he slid inside her slick and swollen entrance.

A unified shudder connected them. The physical form of their compatibility enacted. Their bodies complemented in their fusion and thrusts. Cullen’s hips rocked him in and out, prompting mutual moans, escalating in volume.

Voluptuous, everything about her made for perfect penetration. Generous hips, wide and stable provided hold, letting him appreciate the round curve of her rear. Thick thighs softened his thrusts; expressive moans suggested she enjoyed when he thrust hard and forceful. An arching back brought Anya’s neck near Cullen’s mouth, so he nuzzled, and kissed, instigating shivers up Anya’s spine.

She whimpered his name, _“Cullen."_ A helpless plea preceding her body shaking, tiny quakes joined with her pelvic muscles squeezing around him. It made him groan with her, but his hips continued, extending her climax and nearing his own. Pleasure peaked, and Anya gasped, her arms tightening around his neck.

Driven and determined, grateful thrusts took him further, and further, until his stomach clenched. His spine tingled, balls tightened, ready. A hand moved to her hair, clutching her head as the other gripped her hip harder. He neared, and with a final lunge into her, Cullen whispered, “Anya.” He released; the rest of his body still as his member pulsed inside her.

Panting, still fused in this vulnerable state, the pair held onto each other. Serene, abiding a silent agreement to prolong this peaceful moment, they didn’t dare move. Cullen feared the end of the respite they found together.

But the room cooled without their fervor to warm it, and discomfort set in as Cullen’s muscles relaxed. He assumed a similar experience for Anya. Grabbing a towel from the table, he avoided a mess as he removed himself from her. They both sighed.

In silence, the pair dressed, pulling their respective clothes from where they piled on the floor. He avoided Anya’s eyes, but it seemed she did the same, both procrastinating the question of ‘ _What now?’_

The quiet unsettled him. Unsure of Anya’s thoughts, worried she immediately regretted her decision to be with him, and would not welcome any more visits, Cullen blurted, “This could be more.” He looked sheepishly in Anya’s direction.

“I don’t understand.” Anya’s brow furrowed, and she frowned.

“If you want, I mean… this… we could be more.” Reiterating, Cullen blushed, again waiting for her rejection.

“I still don’t follow, Cullen. What do you mean, more?”

Shaking his head, tempted to give up and change the subject to save himself the embarrassment of making this explanation, Cullen cleared his throat. “I want to be with you... as your partner, if you’ll have me. We can move slowly, of course. I don’t mean to rush you.”

“Oh, Maker!” Anya exclaimed, rushing toward him to hug him.

Surprised by her response, it took a moment before he wrapped his arms around her. Still stunned, he muttered, “Is that a yes?"

Pulling away, Anya gave a happy nod. “It is.”

Another hug and a tender kiss, then the couple said their farewells. Cullen promised to visit again the next evening where they could arrange plans to spend time together outside of the kitchen.

A vacant courtyard, the tavern empty, Cullen walked toward his room, grateful for the extra time to himself. He knew he’d have to find a tactful way to explain to Alexander how his trip to the kitchen for food resulted in Cullen gaining a relationship.

He pushed open the door to his office, and a voice called from behind his desk. “You must have been very hungry, Commander.”

“Alexander,” Cullen made an awkward laugh, shutting the door behind him, “what are you doing here?”

“Hoping to discover what kept you out so long.” Alexander’s feet propped up on Cullen’s desk. The Inquisitor smirked. “It’s unlike you to forget about your work.”

“I'm tired, Alex,” Cullen mumbled. “I’ll tell you more about it tomorrow when I can think clearly.”  
  
“A nickname!” The Inquisitor exclaimed, taking his feet off the desk and standing. “That’s out of the ordinary, as well. Do tell, Cullen, what’s influenced this change.”

An exhausted exhale, Cullen’s shoulders dropped. Now was as good a time as any. “Thank you for sending me to get food.”

“Come again?” Face bunching in confusion, Alexander’s head tilted to the side.

“I met someone in the kitchen and she’s… well, we get along very well.”

“Cullen has a girlfriend?” Alexander laughed, walking around the desk to pat Cullen on the back. “Cullen has a girlfriend!”

“Quiet,” Cullen pressed his hands to quiet Alexander, “it shouldn’t be that surprising, and it’s no one’s business but mine and Anya’s.”

“Anya, is it? Well, good on you, mate. And you’re welcome.” Alexander grinned widely and walked toward the door. “Well, now that I know what all that’s about, I can finally sleep easy, knowing the Commander isn't dead in a ditch somewhere.”

“Good night, Inquisitor.” With a yawn, Cullen watched as Alexander left, and then crawled up to his bed on the upper level. Thoughts reflecting on meeting Anya, her bashful grins and giggles, and her generous nature drifted off to sweet and amorous thoughts. Sleep quickly found him.


End file.
